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“Is she here? To be fair, I don’t think I told her I was picking her up for work today.”
The woman introduces herself as Presley, her best friend. “And what are your intentions for Grace? She’s a good human, and I’m sworn to protect her.”
This makes me laugh. “I intend to pick her up for work, and I intend to date her.”
Presley lifts an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little old for her?”
“Yeah, I’m an old, old man of 39. I hope she’ll be able to take care of me when my body starts to fall apart in a few years.”
Presley laughs again and rolls her eyes. “Hang on, I’ll go roust her.”
Waiting, I scroll through Grace’s social media. I smile at her plain profile photo, and I’m unprepared to see today’s version of Grace as she approaches my truck.
Today she wears a long fuzzy sweater dress over patterned tights with matching knee-high boots. Around her neck is a print scarf that ties the whole outfit together.
Even with a confused expression, she looks like an angel.
“Presley said you’re here to take me to work?”
“Yep. You’re not driving that piece of shit anymore.”
She frowns. “It’s not a piece of shit.”
“No offense. But it’s an accident waiting to happen. Get in. I’ve got coffee and promised to let you measure me.”
“Buck!”
“Measure the house! Slip of the tongue.”
Kind of, but not really.
CHAPTERSIX
Grace
I thought Presley was mistaken when she informed me that Buck was waiting for me out front in his truck.
But there he is, dressed much like yesterday when we met for the first time at the construction trailer, but I detect a bit more dressing up. Buck wears a freshly pressed flannel shirt and a waffle knit henley under it instead of the white undershirt. His jeans are creased, and his work boots have far fewer dirt smudges than before. And his hair looks…crispy?
“Well, since you have coffee. How can a girl resist?” I declare with a bright smile.
He hands me my coffee and leans down for a kiss, which I gladly accept.
“I calculated correctly, then.”
This makes me chuckle and I take a sip of the coffee. “Thank you, it’s just the way I like it.”
“Triple caffe mocha with whip and a cinnamon sprinkle.” He says it like he memorized it.
Buck spies my curious look and admits, “I stalked you on social media.”
The coffee warms me against the chill air and tastes too good for me to care about his scanning my page for personal details. Yes, the coffee tastes that good. After all, I accepted his friend request, after which I spent about an hour before bed looking up every detail I could about him—including a long stare at his cover photo of what looks like him with a group of marines in the desert. There’s a story there, for sure.
He holds open the passenger door, and I slide in.
Once Buck is behind the wheel, he leans over and kisses me again. “You look pretty,” he tells me. Raking his eyes over me like that isn’t conducive to a work environment, but it’s exciting.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tell him amidst sweet, short kisses.
